Rockstar Glamour

He was a high priest of cool

A master of the unspoken rules

And when to break them

To find something new

Three chord tricks

And mirror shades

He danced with death

To steal the flame

Wrapped the world

In a cigarette

And smoked it down

Flicked it to the sidewalk

And continued on

With his Harlem shuffle

On match stick pins

Black leather jeans

And mojo pin

The grim reaper ignored him

For fear of being mocked

The sunlight exposed him

But was rarely clocked

Up till the afternoon

Head down at dawn

The perils of the rock star

Cannot be overrun

Seems like life’s about

Having too much fun

Like my poems? Check out my novel A Vagrant At The House Of Love here.